Saturn Rising

The weather arrived with a salvo of dramatic wind shifts, and a howl screamed through the rigging. We listed towards starboard and comfortable dock living became reminiscent of being underway in the North Atlantic. White chop ripped and frothed across our little cove, frost formed on hatches and the landscape was suddenly barren of life. Everything was sheltering including us. It was Sunday, we were warm inside Caprica despite the ferocity of the gale outside which coated the piers with layers of frost and the frozen dock lines chewed through the stout pilings. Eleanor colored, I read, and Alison baked. The fantastic aroma of Alison’s boat galley baked bread was quickly overwhelmed by the alarming sweet smell of diesel heater failure. My head spun to the heater control panel. The same fault code blinked at me just as a month-long headache formed in the back of my skull.